by Roya Carmen
I pull out my camera. “It’s true, but I have something even better.” I hand him the camera.
“You want me to take photos of you?”
“As many as you would like,” I say. “And I’ll print the best ones for you and burn you a CD.”
“Sounds good. But I don’t know too much about photography.”
“It’s easy. It’s set on auto. Just click.”
As we walk through Lincoln Park, Weston clicks away and captures my image against the greenery, the cityscape in the background and the lovely fountains and ponds.
I admit—this was not a completely selfless idea—I manage to snap a few photos of him as well—capturing his gorgeous smile, the spark in his brilliant green eyes, even that rebel lock of hair.
He takes one or two selfies of the both of us, stretching out his long arms, the camera looking down on us. As I smile at the camera, I can’t help but realize this is probably one of the unspoken rules—no “loving couple” photos. But I push away the thought from my mind almost as soon as it makes its appearance. I want a photo of him and me. No matter what happens, I know I can look back at the photo when I’m ninety years old and remember him and this absolutely tumultuous time in my life.
“Nice choice,” Weston says as we sit comfortably on the terrace at Mon Ami Gabi, a French bistro style restaurant. “This place is quite charming.”
“It kind of feels like we’re in Paris, right?” I say playfully. “If only I knew what Paris feels like,” I’m quick to add. “I’ve never been.”
“I’m sure you’ll get to see it someday,” he tells me, looking at me in that way he always does—like I’m the cutest thing on the planet.
“I sure hope so,” I respond, scanning the menu.
Weston orders a glass of red from the rolling wine cart, and I order a white since I plan to have the roasted chicken with frites.
“Happy belated birthday,” I blurt out when the server finally leaves us.
He smiles shyly and doesn’t quite look at me. “Thank you. Although, I think I’d rather forget all about it.”
My fingers are trembling as I reach into my oversized purse. “Here, I got you a little something.” My nerves are tied up in knots as I hand him the small wrapped package. I’m not sure why I’m so flustered. I just hope he likes it.
“Thank you,” he says, clearly surprised. “This isn’t a picture of you, is it?”
He tears the wrapping off and smiles when he sees the CD I made for him.
“You’ve made me a mix-tape, I see,” he says, a grin stretched wide across his face. “Very old-school.”
“It has some of my favorite songs…some stuff you’ve probably never heard of,” I explain, a little nervous. “I’m always looking for new music.”
He studies the list of songs scribbled on the cover paper. “I love it. I like a lot of these songs. I’ll listen to it when I work out.”
I smile, happy he likes my gift. Then, I swallow hard and stare down at my dress. “I also have something else for you.”
He tilts his head. “Oh…” is all he says. He seems curious.
“Which I’ll give you at the hotel.”
A slow mischievous smile spreads across his face. “I’m intrigued.”
I smile at him, not wanting to divulge more.
And I hope he can’t see just how petrified I am.
When we get back to the hotel, Weston asks me about the second gift.
“It’s not really a gift,” I tell him as we walk into the elevator. “It’s not something tangible.”
“I am bursting with curiosity.”
I start to doubt myself—maybe this was a horrible idea. I don’t even know if I can pull it off.
I take my shoes off once we’re in the suite, and sit on the sofa. My nerves are in knots—I’m so anxious.
He pulls his satchel over his head. “It’s a shame I don’t have a CD player here. But I’ll have Kathryn transfer the songs to my iPod as soon as she can.”
“I hope you like them,” I say, my voice barely a whisper.
He takes a seat next to me on the sofa and takes my hand in his. “Thanks for the CD.”
I look away, ill-at-ease. “It’s not much,” I say. “But it’s really hard to get a birthday present for the man who has everything.”
He laughs. “I do have everything,” he confesses as he trails his finger along the edge of my face.
I know what he wants. And I want it too.
But I need to stick to the plan.
I pull his hand away. “Uh…” I stammer. “About your other present…”
He perks up. “Yes?”
I stand and walk toward his bedroom. Once I make my way there, I pull one of the arm chairs and position it to face the bed.
“Here. Sit here.”
He does as he’s told, pausing to examine me, eyeing me with a suspicious smile. I’m sure he’s wondering what the heck I’m up to.
I clutch my bag against my chest and sit on the bed, right in front of him. He studies me intently and tilts his head to the side.
I’m surprised at how nervous I am. Weston and I have been together a few times now, and we’ve become quite intimate, yet he still manages to unnerve me—in many ways, it’s still like being with a stranger every time I’m with him.
I finally summon the courage to speak. “Well…Weston,” I say, sucking in a long breath. “As I’ve said already, you’re not exactly easy to shop for…”
He smiles, his elbow propped on the arm of the chair, his chin rests on his thumb, and his gold-speckled green eyes fix me intently. I’m sure he’s not trying to be sexy, but he sure is.
I reach for my bag slowly, my eyes locked on his.
He leans in. “What do you have in there?” he asks. His eyes have an energy about them—I can tell I’m driving him a little crazy.
“I’ve racked my brain thinking about what I should get you. I wondered about the things you like, what you like to do…” I go on as I retrieve a silver case from my purse. “And an idea came to me.”
I slide my fingers along the hard edge of the case, and slowly open it. My breath hitches. “I know…how…” I bite my lip. “You like to watch,” I quickly add, my words barely a whisper. I can’t believe how difficult this is. I thought it would be easier. I thought I was comfortable enough with Weston but…“I thought I’d give you a little show.”
My heart hammers against my ribcage as I turn the case toward him and show him my vibrator. I look up at him to see his reaction—it matters so much to me.
He smiles—that wicked smile which I only see when we’re about to do something delicious and naughty. He bites his bottom lip. “I must say…I love this gift so far.”
I smile. “It hasn’t even started yet.”
He leans back in his chair. “What are you going to do exactly? What will this little show entail?”
“I’m going to pleasure myself in front of you while you watch,” I inform him with a sly smile. “And you’re only allowed to watch…you can’t touch.”
He smiles, a fire in his eyes. “That’s a little cruel, but fair enough.”
I look at him and set the case on the bed, reaching for the side zipper of my dress.
His smile fades. He’s serious all of a sudden—intense. He’s aroused. “Do you do this often?”
I swallow hard. This is a conversation I’ve never thought I’d have with anyone. “Enough. I think about you.”
He closes his eyes. “I like that,” he says. He opens his eyes again to see my purple lace bra exposed. I’ve worn a tasteful set under my dress. I want this show to be classy—well, as classy as a masturbation show can be. A small part of me can’t help feeling a bit like a porn star. I still can’t believe I’m doing this. I’m completely under his spell.
“And that’s your tool of choice?” he teases.
I slide my dress down and expose my matching lacy briefs. “It’s pretty effective. It’s about the same size as you. I li
ke to imagine it’s you inside me.”
“Only I don’t vibrate,” he jokes. “It’s even better than me, I imagine.”
I shoot him a sly smile. “It’s never as good as you.”
I reach for the case and pull down the covers.
He scratches the edge of his jaw. “Take off the bra. I’d like you fully naked.”
I unclasp my bra and let it fall to the ground. I feel the weight of my breasts drop. My nipples are erect—I’ve been aroused since I first took the silver case out of my purse. I reach for the band of my panties and pull them down slowly, revealing myself completely.
He groans a little—he seems to be enjoying the show. And I’m still scared as all get-out. So I try to take the focus away from myself—I’m feeling way too exposed. “Are you hard?”
“What do you think?”
“I can tell,” I say, sitting on the edge of the bed, vibrator in hand.
“I can’t touch you…not even one bit?”
“No,” I say firmly. “But you can watch.”
“Show me…” he says, tracing his index finger along his bottom lip.
The way he’s looking at me is so damn hot.
I take out the vibrator from its case and hold it in my hands—the sleek see-through rubber is cold against my palm. I get right to it, turn it on, and spread my legs wide.
I glide it against my lips, slowly back and forth, delighting in the sensation.
“Sweet hell…” is all Weston manages to say.
I close my eyes. My other hand strokes my left breast. My fingers caress my nipple. “I like to imagine you’re the one touching me.”
“I wish.” His voice is ragged, uneven.
The pressure is building—it feels so good. Usually, I climax really quickly this way.
But I want to give him a good show, so I drag the vibrator away from my sex, down my thigh.
“Teasing yourself?”
“I need to,” I breathe, “if I want this to last longer than a minute.”
“You’re killing me.”
I open my eyes to look at him. He seems so turned on, yet he’s just sitting there watching me, behaving, like the good boy he is.
I sit up, still watching him—he’s being so good. I turn off the vibrator and get up off the bed.
He jerks to attention. “What are you…”
I walk up to him and reach for his belt.
With a hint of a smile, he asks, “What are you doing?”
“I want you to touch yourself too, while you watch me.”
“I don’t hate that idea,” he says as I free his erection, big and glorious.
I lean down and wrap my mouth around it.
“Mirella…” he breathes.
I suck him, hard and slow, enjoying the sensation of him. But I don’t want to take it too far. “There…” I whisper, pulling back. “I got you started…nice and wet.”
His hand grips his long shaft, in a smooth up and down movement. I sit on the bed and watch him—watching him masturbate is such a turn-on.
I spread my legs wide again, giving him a nice view—I’m quite uninhibited when I’m aroused. I slide the vibrating dildo up and down along my sex, loving the way my body feels…and builds—every cell seems alive. I bring myself to the edge, but then I pull away when I sense myself too near.
Weston’s lids are heavy, and his breathing seems to grow shallow.
“Don’t move too fast,” I warn him. “The show’s not over,” I whisper and turn over on my knees, my ass facing him.
“God…I love that view.”
“You and every single man.”
I ease into the vibrator. It fills me deep. I slide it in and out, pushing my hips hard onto it, imagining I’m straddling Weston.
“You’re beautiful.” His voice is soft.
As the vibration hits my G-spot over and over, I feel myself nearing climax. I can’t see Weston, but I can hear him—he’s nearing too. And if I can hold off for just a second, I can time the grand finale perfectly.
But no can do.
Despite myself, I explode into waves of pleasure, my moans surprisingly loud.
When the pleasure finally recedes, I crash down on the bed, spent.
My body is numb.
“Incredible,” he whispers.
I realize he hasn’t climaxed yet, and I want him to.
“You can touch me now,” I say playfully, looking back at him, “if you want to.”
He jumps to his feet and lunges at me. His hands grab my hips, and he trails his tongue down my spine, all the way to the tip of my crack.
He puts on a condom as fast as humanly possible and presses into me—the sensation of him inside me is always so amazing—I can never seem to get enough.
He reaches his climax almost instantly.
We both crash onto the crisp white sheets, our bodies fused.
Chapter Seventeen
Tell me I’m better than him.
“I THINK THIS MIGHT BE the most memorable present I’ve ever received,” he whispers, his lips against my earlobe.
I laugh. “I think I enjoyed it more than you did.”
He strokes my hair away from my face. “I sincerely doubt that. That was astonishing.”
I turn over and reach for him. I wrap my arms around him—his shirt is soft against my naked skin. “Lie with me.”
He lies beside me and presses against me, his arms hold me tight and keep me warm.
We lie like this for what seems like an eternity, without words. I think about how wonderful it would be to be snuggled in his arms like this forever. Almost as if he’s reading my thoughts, he says, his voice soft, “I wish you could stay the night.”
My heart fills with butterflies. “Me too.”
“But…we can’t.”
“No, we can’t,” I agree.
I hate these damned rules.
“It would be nice to wake up next to you,” he says.
It would be.
“You have no idea what I look like first thing in the morning,” I joke, trying to lighten the mood before I start to cry. “And the morning breath…you have no idea.”
He laughs a hearty laugh—the sound of it in my ear is wonderful.
“Trust me…it’s better off this way.” There is genuine emotion in his eyes.
“I trust you.”
“Mirella,” he whispers, hesitating. “It’s been over three weeks since we last saw each other.”
“Yes?”
“I’ve been concerned about the last time we were together,” he says with uncertainty in his tone.
I know what he’s asking.
“I’ve had my period,” I reassure him. “There’s nothing to worry about.”
“Good,” he says, squeezing me tight.
And I wonder…what if it hadn’t been…good.
Would he have stood by me? Or would he have insisted I get an abortion? My intuition tells me it would be the latter. But I honestly have no clue. A baby would be pure chaos…and completely unexpected.
And I know how Weston hates the unexpected.
I receive a surprise e-mail from Kathryn, addressed to both Gabe and me.
Hello Mirella and Gabe,
Weston and Bridget were wondering if you would like to join them for dinner at Lake Point Tower this Thursday night, at six o’clock, followed by a visit to Adler Planetarium.
If so, will you be needing the car service?
Please get back to me at your earliest convenience,
Kathryn
Gabe calls me from work at lunch time. I’m a little giddy when I answer—I love when Gabe calls me from work—it’s a rare occurrence.
“So, this is unusual,” he says, his voice upbeat. “A date on a school night.”
“Yes,” I agree. “It’s been a while since we’ve all been together.”
“Yeah, it has.”
“You think it will be awkward?”
He laughs. “No…not at all.”
I l
augh too. Yes…how could it not be?
“I’m not sure it’s a great idea,” I confess. “Things have been running so smoothly. Why mess with that?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe it’s a good idea. Maybe it will rein us in, in case any of us were entertaining delusions, getting carried away. Show us who belongs with who, you know what I’m saying?”
He leaves me speechless for a beat—his words shock me. Occasionally Gabe will say something insightful and eerily apropos, and I almost wonder if he’s been spying on me.
“Maybe you’re right. Listen, I need to go. I need to get lunch ready for the girls.”
The thing is…his words have rattled me.
Gabe’s words are still on my mind when I get dressed for our double date. I’ve chosen my favorite skinny jeans and a breezy, white Bohemian top.
Is Gabe right?
Do I need to be reined in?
Will seeing Weston with Bridget knock me back to reality? Because Gwen is right—I have been stumbling a little.
It will probably not be easy, I admit to myself. I’ve been very good at not thinking about her. When Weston and I get together, it seems there’s just us two in the whole world, and I often forget he has a whole other life I’m not a part of—a whole family, children I’ve never met, a home I’ve never seen—multiple homes I’ve never seen.
And now I’ve managed to self-talk myself into a mood.
By the time I touch up my makeup and fix my hair, I’m officially bitchy. I don’t want to go on a double date.
I want to see Weston…and only Weston.
And I remind myself, this is exactly why I try not to think about these things.
As I slip on my open-toed wedges, I kiss the top of Claire’s head. “Promise you’ll be good for Caroline?”
“I promise,” she says in her sweet voice. I can’t resist kissing her on both cheeks.
“You too, Chloe.” I kiss her cheeks as well.
My two beautiful girls.
“We won’t be late.”
A wide smile stretches across Caroline’s face. “Have fun,” she tells us, adjusting her dark-framed glasses.
“We’ll try,” I say, half-rolling my eyes, still a bit cranky—I just can’t seem to shake it.
We ride to the city in Gabe’s truck. There’s no way on earth he would ever accept a ride in Weston’s car—probably not even if we were stranded in the middle of nowhere, dying of dehydration.